


Gaïpor

by Arianne, patrexes



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barebacking, Blood and Injury, Consent Issues, Cunnilingus, Dacryphilia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Hebephilia, Inappropriate Use of Game Mechanics, Language Barrier, M/M, Moral Bankruptcy, Nipple Torture, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, References to Canon Incest, Secret Identity, Size Kink, Trans Male Character, Unreliable Narrator, Vaginal Sex, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 20:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20570639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne/pseuds/Arianne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrexes/pseuds/patrexes
Summary: He’d let the boy pretend not to stare.(In which the twins came to Eorzea in 1571 6AE with Louisoix, and events proceeded thence.)





	Gaïpor

**Author's Note:**

> The Latin word _vulnerābātur_, “(s)he had been wounded”, is often used to refer to a virgin’s deflowering.

The Scions’ boy harbored no suspicions of him. Gaius was not sure _ why_, but he’d no intention to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Were he thirty years younger, the Garlean lilt of his accent would command no attention, but a man of his age claiming Ala Mhigan extraction and speaking in such a manner was wont to garner notice he could ill afford. Even in Ul’dah, where the language of commerce was Low Eorzean, interacting with much of their order was no small risk. Among their number, however, was a Sharlayan contingent of Elezen whose at-best passing familiarity with the languages of Eorzea came to Gaius as a boon. 

Of the three still living, there were two with whom he’d become acquainted. The half-obscured tattoo on the elder’s cheek beneath his hooded cloak identified him as a member of the Circle of Knowing, and were he not so damnably tedious he might make a valuable ally even unwitting. As it was, the man acted every part the hero of some Allagan epic on van Hydrus’ shelf, and Gaius had little patience for cryptic trivia. 

The younger spoke with a heavier accent yet and far less fluency, but Gaius found he much favored their liaisons. The boy—so young he came not even to Gaius’ hip—was none other than the grandson of the late Louisoix Leveilleur. Possessed of an inquisitive mind, it was a travesty that he was being raised not as a citizen of the Empire but among such ignoble company as the newly-formed Scions of the Seventh Dawn, owing to ill but his grandfather’s misbegotten pride. Reportedly in all else a wise and caring man, he had refused the citizenship offered to his gens upon the fall of Sharlayan, and thus denied the boy the Imperial education in which he would have excelled. On the occasion of only their second meeting, Alphinaud had novel suggestions on several aspects of Gaius’ research into eikonography, and offered unbid to retrieve several tomes he believed might aid him to be delivered upon his next visit to Ul’dah.

Alphinaud had made good on the promise, arriving flushed that morning upon the doorstep two flights up, the Hourglass’ third storey being the only one with ceilings high enough Gaius need not duck. With the boy was a porter, bearing volumes ranging from histories to mysticism to scientific inquiry on the nature of eikons. Primals, rather, to use the term his Eorzean nom de guerre would favor.

After dismissing the errand boy, Alphinaud had not hesitated to make himself at home in Gaius’ room. There they passed the day engrossed in their respective tomes, pausing only to excerpt passages of interest or share some passing thought and, briefly, when Gaius had ordered in lunch.

By noon, the temperature rivalled the Ala Mhigan summer despite Alphinaud’s insistence that the day was quite mild. Nowhere in Eorzea had the convenience of air conditioning save the Imperial Palace in Ala Mhigo, which Gaius himself had insisted upon, and Ul’dah—seemingly antithetical to the general way of cities—was more humid than surrounding Thanalan. Even opening the alley-facing windows offered little relief, and Gaius’ shirt was soaked through with sweat within a few bells. Rather than go through a second before nightfall, he’d simply removed it, and let the boy pretend not to stare.

Gaius himself had no such pretensions. 

The boy sat barefoot and cross-legged on Gaius’ bed in threadbare leggings which only reached the midpoint of his shin. Like as not, before the Calamity they had been full-length; Gaius doubted as well the boy’s tunic had always been so immodest. Rather than drape across his slender thighs when he sat, the hem rode up around his hips. For want of only a better viewing angle, it would leave little to the imagination.

If Alphinaud noticed Gaius’ roaming eyes, he gave no indication. Bent over and lost in his reading, he tugged at his lower lip with his teeth until it flushed pink, white braid fallen over his shoulder so its tail brushed the page.

Gaius’ gaze was still upon him when Alphinaud looked up with sudden curiosity. In his deliberate way, Low Eorzean unpracticed and clumsy on his tongue, the boy asked, “Have you found your ætheric readings?”

“From the Fourth Umbral?” Alphinaud nodded. “Ah—yes and no,” Gaius admitted. He’d gotten somewhat distracted. “As suspected, the ambient ætheric density did indeed decrease quite drastically concurrent to Ultima’s construction. I’ve not yet found any measurements of the—” and there _ must _ have been a word for this, but Gaius did not know it “—appetites of specific primals.”

The boy frowned, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Could you say it again, sir? Slower?” 

Gaius was not fully certain of Alphinaud’s functional limitations in the language, but it seemed he had a firmer grasp on the written than the spoken. He flipped back through his own tome to the relevant passage, hiding a scoff in his breath for the boy’s hummingbird-quick glance at his bare chest, and stood.

Alphinaud’s gaze stayed fixed firm upon his own hands when Gaius brought the book over to the bed, setting it down in front of him. Gaius perched himself on the bed’s edge beside the boy, the springs creaking under his weight. When he pointed out the excerpt, his forearm laid across Alphinaud’s folded knee. The boy’s eyes followed the motion at first, but did not stay on the text, sliding instead back down the length of Gaius’ arm to his elbow. His forearm was thicker around than even the widest point of the boy’s thigh, and if the boy’s sudden tension beneath him were any indication, he too had noticed. Two sets of eyes travelled further, and—well. Gaius hadn’t thought it _ likely_, in his prior imaginings, that there was a cock between the boy’s legs, even one not yet begun to grow. The darkening stain along the seam of Alphinaud’s leggings left by what could only be a wet cunt served well enough as confirmation.

_ He _ hardly minded one way or another.

Text long forgotten, the boy brought his hands behind his hips, lifting incrementally up upon them to shift himself backwards, slipping out from under the unassailable press of Gaius’ forearm. Tried to bring his thighs together. Gaius put his hand upon the boy’s knee to prevent him the propriety.

“—sir?” In Gaius’ peripheral vision, Alphinaud was blinking up at him wide-eyed. He did not make to shift his gaze. The boy stilled beneath him, fear unmistakable in his bright eyes but undirected—of the unknown, rather than of Gaius himself. Any soldier knew well the look of _ that _ terror.

Slowly he slid his hand up the inside of Alphinaud’s thigh over the thin leggings, his boy unresisting.

Alphinaud gasped at the first brush of Gaius’ fingers against the damp fabric, a choking sound that became a thready whine with the drag of the no-doubt rough seam over his cunt. As small as he was, Gaius hardly needed twitch to have the boy rocking back into the hard press of his fingertips, soaking wet even for such an unfocused touch, and that long whine had not even broken for a second breath before he came shaking beneath Gaius’ hand. His flat chest heaved as Gaius curled but two of his fingers possessive over the boy’s cunt, making a hook of them, failing to press past his wet lips for their breadth.

Overwhelmed tears gleamed on Alphinaud’s pale lashes. He looked up at Gaius through them with his mouth half-open, breath audible and unsteady. Gaius met his eyes; asked, “You don’t want me to _ stop_, do you?”

The boy swallowed hard. Voice trembling, he said, “No, sir.”

Gaius wiped his fingers on the bedspread, then peeled the boy’s tunic off over his head, mussing his hair. Curled one hand over Alphinaud’s collarbone, palm the same width as his shoulder; thumbed the hollow of his throat to feel the fluttering heartbeat; pressed him flat into the mattress. 

The boy was not _ completely _ flat chested: beneath soft pink areolæ not yet differentiated from underdeveloped nipples was the first budding of breast tissue, firm to the touch, no wider around than a coin and hardly thicker. Alphinaud cried out at Gaius’ touch, tits as tender as he remembered Livia’s being when she had started puberty. 

(She had been near twelve, then. She had been a head taller than this boy at _ eight_. Gaius knew little of Elezen development, and even the grown ones looked young to his eyes: whether Alphinaud’s maturity was earned or acted, he could not say.)

“Your tits hurt, boy?” Alphinaud nodded, and Gaius pinched them both roughly, catching the whole of each between thumb and forefinger; ground the sensitive tissue down against washboard ribs. The boy jerked beneath him, sobbing, those tears caught on his lashes now spilling over onto his flushed cheeks.

_ Fuck_. No one had cried for him like this since the first time Livia took him properly, now nearly a decade ago. She had been dry, at least at first, his cock a gift for her fourteenth birthday he hadn’t expected her to unwrap quite so _ quickly_—and meanwhile, Alphinaud hadn’t even taken his finger yet. Gaius dug in his nails and watched blood well up under pale skin; lowered his other hand to palm himself through his trousers.

He was already half-hard, and it wouldn’t take much more. “You want my cock inside you,” he said. A kinder man would have phrased it as a question. “Fuck knows if you can even take a proper reaming. You’re younger than I usually go for.” 

Who even knew how much of that the boy’d understood, but Alphinaud managed a desperate “I—_please_—” half-choked by sobs.

Gaius spat a curse to Rhalgr and sat back, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Alphinaud’s leggings and pulling them to his knees in one motion, then from each of his legs in turn. Stripped bare, Alphinaud propped himself up on his elbows, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. His arm shook, one hardly enough to support even his slight frame. When Gaius wrapped his hands around the boy’s slender calves to pull him closer it no longer could, and with a squeak he fell once more onto his back. Gaius’ fingers overlapped behind Alphinaud’s knees; the boy yielded when he pressed them apart, laying bare his cunt for Gaius’ inspection.

Gaius’ cock ached in his trousers as he slid his hands up smooth thighs to run his thumbs over the mons and outer lips. The hair was sparse, only slightly coarser than that on the boy’s head and just as light, more easily felt underneath his fingers than seen against Alphinaud’s skin. His lips, pinker than his nipples, barely parted where Livia’s would be swollen with arousal, clit visibly hard, dripping slick down her thighs—even as a virgin Gaius had known she would gape. But tight as he looked—as tight as he would be split open on Gaius’ cock—Alphinaud was easily as wet. In the sunlight, his cunt was as shiny as if Gaius had spit on it.

Gaius brought his thumbs down, stroked across his lips and between them. It made the boy gasp and arch his back, line of his abdomen pulled taut, concave below the curve of his ribs, exaggerating the dip of his sternum. He tried to spread the boy with the pads of his thumbs, and slipped once on the slick. “You’ve such a wet little cunt,” Gaius said, voice rough from equal parts awe and arousal. “Any oil and you’d be _ too _ slick.” He pinched Alphinaud’s thin, pink lips between thumb and forefinger and pulled as the boy whimpered, like as not in embarrassment as much as pain. “So damn tight… Once I get my cock in you these lips might never close again.” 

He swiped a finger between them, blunt nail scraping down from the hood of Alphinaud’s clit, cock, whatever the boy called the thing; over his urethra (slit too small even to see); paused beneath it, not pressing in but only meaning to tease. Found opposition where it ought not be. “Quid est—?”

He pried apart the soft lips of Alphinaud’s cunt. “Fuck’s sake,” he murmured, careful not to slip back into Garlean, “it’s _ intact_.”

“—what?” Alphinaud breathed, half again to whining.

Gaius ignored him. “A virgin I considered, but never _ untouched_.” What growing child hadn’t experimented? But the boy’s hole—already so small—was ringed by thin tissue around the edges, leaving only a tiny entrance with a band of yet more tissue threaded across. It created the illusion of two distinct channels, each so narrow Gaius’ smallest finger would catch and make him bleed. That didn’t seem normal, but Gaius wasn’t sure; Livia had popped her own cherry long before he ever got to her.

He hooked his finger through both holes and, without warning, snapped the boy’s hymen.

Alphinaud let out a shriek, and Gaius pressed his other hand over his mouth. “The window’s open, boy. You want someone to think there’s been a murder?”

Blinking past new tears, the boy shook his head, and Gaius let up his hand. “This is Ul’dah,” Alphinaud protested on unsteady breath. “No one _ cares_.”

This, Gaius considered; tipped half a nod. It was a fair enough argument, he would give the boy that—so long as he did not make a _ habit _ of it, when someone was more like to complain of the ruckus.

With his other hand still wedged between Alphinaud’s legs, the only thing stopping him from burying his bloodied fingers to the third knuckle in that wet cunt was its own tightness. The implication of an intact hymen was enough to make Gaius dizzy with arousal, his heartbeat pounding in his ears: certainly nothing had ever been inside the boy before, not even his own tiny fingers, three together the width of but one of Gaius’.

He pressed his forefinger in, movement quick and as unforgiving as the vise-grip Alphinaud’s cunt offered in return. It was no small effort, even dripping wet. “_Fuck_, but you’re tight.” The boy dug his heels into the sheets for traction, narrow hips twisting helpless, and made no attempt to bite back his sob—whether for pain or only shock at the unfamiliar, Gaius didn’t know. The look of him spurned belief, so tiny and fragile naked on his back in Gaius’ bed, legs forced wide by nothing more than the span of Gaius’ arm and full on a single finger, clenching around it so tight one would think he was taking a fist. Alphinaud whined high in his throat.

He would need to be looser.

Gaius had no obligation to grind the pad of his thumb into the boy’s clit—Alphinaud had already come once on his fingers, evidenced by his still-shaking thighs. But milking another orgasm out of the boy would lessen his hole’s resistance, and it would be no trial, sensitive as Alphinaud was and as unaccustomed to touch. “I can’t believe no one’s laid claim to this cunt yet. Tell me you’ve at least played with your clit.”

Alphinaud blinked up at Gaius, his gaze searching, mouth forming the shapes of words while committing to none. A few drops of blood stained his lower lip where he had bitten it. 

His hesitation mustn’t be… “You haven’t? Or don’t you understand?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I—” The flush across his cheekbones seemed to deepen further. He looked to either side as though he would find the words he sought, and shook his head. “I don’t.”

Gaius drew back his hand, leaving Alphinaud’s cunt with a wet sound, soaked with slick and no small amount of blood. He reached for the boy’s fine-boned wrist, pulled his hand between his legs and rubbed those tiny fingers in circles over his clit. “This, boy. Have you done this? Have you touched your own clit?”

Alphinaud licked the blood away from his torn lower lip. Nodded, uncertainty clouding his features and his embarrassment a flush up to the tips of his ears. “Yes, sir. I’ve,” he said a word in his native Sharlayan (unmistakable in its strangeness, nothing like any language Gaius knew from his long years in the army), then in awkward Low Eorzean, “touched myself.”

“Good,” said Gaius. “Do it now,” and brought his hand further down once again. “Make yourself come for me.”

He couldn’t help but compare the boy to Livia, whose clit Gaius could easily expose from its hood with his finger or his tongue when she wanted so much stimulation it hurt. On Alphinaud he couldn’t even _ see _ the thing, tiny and obscured completely by hood and mons. All four of the boy’s slight fingers spanned nearly the full width between his legs, and he rocked into them seeking sensation with little coordination.

Gaius nudged one of Alphinaud’s knees outward with the back of his hand, the boy having closed them slightly around his own hand the way he must when he was alone in whatever room was kept for him within the Scions’ headquarters, fingers like as not snuck inside his leggings for childish embarrassment at the thought of being found, swallowing the same soft moan he now made. Even with his legs splayed to open up his cunt Gaius’ finger did not at once find its mark, little enough space left under the boy’s hand for the breadth of Gaius’. Only by tugging aside one of the lips with his thumb did his fingertip come to rest at the entrance. There he felt the telltale clench of tight muscle when Alphinaud’s questing fingers found what they sought, and when it relaxed—marginally, but it _ did _ relax—he forced his finger deep into Alphinaud’s cunt.

It was not shallow _ proportionally_, but their size disparity meant bottoming out even a single finger might prove an exercise in futility: not far past the second knuckle and Gaius found the blunt tip of his finger digging hard into the flesh of Alphinaud’s cervix and tearing from his throat a broken, wounded sound.

It must have hurt—Gaius could hardly imagine anything he might do to this boy _ not _ hurting, frail as Alphinaud was—but how _ much _ he couldn’t know, if it was even fully sensate or only perceptive of the pressure. Livia, when she took him this deep, always cried out for the pain of it, but nothing held interest to his daughter that neither hurt nor seemed to. He’d have been none the wiser should that be naught but an active imagination.

No matter, really—even if the pain was negligible now, it soon would not be: having stricken the boy’s womb with but a _ finger _ not even to the root, Gaius could only think of how ill-equipped Alphinaud was to accommodate his cock. Already his tears dotted the bedsheets where he tossed his head to the side, biting down on the meat of his free hand’s palm to muffle his desperate cry. His heels dug in, hips bucking and twisting in some futile attempt to allay the no-doubt bruising force of Gaius’ thrusts.

But the word ‘no’ never passed his lips, nor did the fingers rubbing now ever-more urgently over his clit cease.

“Good boy,” Gaius said. “Already bleeding and I haven’t even fucked you yet.” A rougher thrust, a shift of angle, and his fingertip scraped past the opening of the boy’s womb. He drove his finger in to the third knuckle; Alphinaud’s cunt could but accept it.

The hand curled between the boy’s legs kept him vulnerable as any bindings, held open to receive whatever Gaius might give him for all that his knees tried to snap shut. His breaths came voiced in tandem with the jab of Gaius’ finger inside him, gasps which caught on the rough edges of noises Gaius nearly couldn’t hear for the pitch. Tears left shining trails into the whorls of Alphinaud’s delicate ears, his eyes screwed shut as if the light show behind his eyelids could offer succor.

The boy’s hand between his legs fell still.

“Too much for you, boy?” No shame if it was: even the most world-wise could at times become overwhelmed. That Alphinaud found himself lacking the requisite coordination was little wonder—it was asking enough of a virgin to come on Gaius’ finger, never having been penetrated. Like as not, it was too much to ask he do the deed himself.

Sure enough, Alphinaud nodded half-desperate, eyes still closed and biting hard at his lip.

“I’ve got you,” Gaius promised. He pressed his thumb down on Alphinaud’s tiny fingers, covered three of them, directed them to grind against his clit; milked the boy’s orgasm through his own fingers but so much more roughly than the boy had chosen for himself, and Alphinaud _ wailed _ for the change. It was but scant moments before he was coming again, his back arching.

His cunt was still spasming around Gaius’ finger when the rest of his body had fallen lax against the bed, a tremor in his fingers and his lower lip, bitten bloody; a flush in his tear-streaked face, eyes bright. Chest heaving, his little tits were bruising already, petechiæ clustered over and around his soft pink areolæ and spreading out more sparsely, a match for the few developing in the hollows beneath the boy’s eyes for the force of his sobs.

When he had seen Alphinaud’s orgasm through, Gaius nearly pulled out. Angled the pad of his middle finger against the nailbed of the first, streaked with slick and blood-sticky. The boy should be too worn out now for his body to offer much resistance, even as tight as he was, and so Gaius pressed down against the boy’s perineum and pushed in the second finger. Felt Alphinaud tear around him.

The boy’s cry caught in his throat, or was too high to hear, features contorting into a grimace and chin rolling to his sternum, then he threw his head back—hard enough that, were they not on a bed, he might have given himself concussion. Fingernails digging white into the blankets, Alphinaud let free a wail: a desperate, ghastly, battlefield sound, free entirely of compunctions. It was a beautiful cry, and left Gaius awash in its uninhibited pain and fear and confusion.

He pulled his fingers free of the boy’s cunt, bringing the same hand up to play with a bruising tit; left a smear of slick and blood across the nearly flat plane of his chest, carding nails up his ribs and bringing up red wheals. He took Alphinaud’s bonny little face in hand and scrubbed at the boy’s cheek with his thumb. “It’s so pretty when you cry, puelle mī.” He patted the side of Alphinaud’s cheekbone, a _ tap-tap _ of his two fingers, tacky with the boy’s arousal. “Keep still.”

He went to retrieve his pack from beside the desk. A simple weak paralyzing potion would have only intermittent effects, but with its aid he had taken the Emperor’s cock raw when he’d been too green to manage without. At fifteen Gaius pyr Bælsar had been a fair bit larger than frail young Alphinaud aan Leveilleur, but what use was an unfuckable cunt? Hells, not as if there weren’t plenty of Miqo’te who took Rœgadyn cock.

“Lucky I had this,” he commented, unsure himself if he meant _ it _ was lucky or that _ the boy _was: an odd ambiguity of the Eorzean tongue, unnatural to him even with seventeen years of practice. It was rare enough he used potions at all, and he’d no recollection of ever buying the phial. Uncorking it with his teeth, he returned to the bed, wrapped with ease his free hand around the boy’s thin calf just below the joint of his knee; pulled him closer.

Alphinaud’s breath caught in his throat. “What is it?”

“Something to make this easier.” Having slicked his fingers with the yellow potion, at first he pressed in only one, deep as the second knuckle. There was tearing already, not just the boy’s hymen but a fissure that, should he stand, would no doubt have a thin trail of blood dripping down his thighs from between those pink lips, flushed and swollen with arousal. And it would be a _ trail_, Alphinaud rail-thin, whereas when Livia bled her thighs brushed together and left her all-over pink as if she’d scalded herself in the baths.

Alphinaud’s cunt clenched around the first touch of Gaius’ returning finger—the potion cold and like as not stinging where it seeped into the tearing, minor as that yet was—but it was butterfly-flutter uneven within seconds as the potion began to take effect. Gaius pressed deep, turned his hand at the wrist in perfunctory strokes that made the boy squirm neither into nor away from his touch. With what strength the muscle still held his cunt resisted Gaius’ finger, likely naught but a reflex.

“Sir? That’s—”

“Erus,” Gaius corrected. “Call me erus, not sir.” Any Garlean the boy knew would be military rankings: this he would likely assume an Ala Mhigan colloquialism, just as previous slips, and when Alphinaud repeated it, sure enough there was no question in the syllables nor even a plea, seemingly only feeling the shape of it on his tongue. “Good,” Gaius praised him regardless, for the attempt (poor though it was), for being so willing; for spreading his legs and letting Gaius break his cunt open to be fucked.

Gaius wasted little time—he had no interest in trying to coax another orgasm out of a virgin cunt that would be sore enough regardless. It was unlikely the boy would be capable of it, frail to the point of trembling only lying on his back and being—well, it was practically fucking already, wasn’t it, as small as he was? Alphinaud being fucked in the cunt on Gaius’ finger, as wide around and probably longer than the cock a different twist of fate would have given the boy himself.

The potion was hardly a potent one, and when Gaius pulled out Alphinaud’s cunt clung to him, nearly as strait as it had been before his wounding. Gaius poured more over his hand (spilling onto the bedsheets, already bloodstained); this emptied half the phial, but he hardly needed save it for any other purpose. It dripped from Gaius’ fingers, three clustered together to press between the boy’s lips. Too much though it looked, and no doubt felt, three fingers were smaller still than Gaius’ cock—and still Alphinaud wore his fear of it with so much more _ candor _ than that Ishgardian boy back in Silvertear who had been so intent to assassinate him even once he’d reached around.

He thrust gently as he could, mindful of the drag of his knuckles on the ripped edges of the boy’s hymen, but it mattered little. His cunt was wet enough, bleeding and soaked and with the potion besides—he struggled for the size of them, and that Gaius could hardly ease. With his other hand engulfing Alphinaud’s shoulder to hold the boy in place, ensuring he did not only push him down the bed, he watched the boy’s little cunt accept him surely enough, as he had known it would. His thin lips gaped, and the slit stretched taut around Gaius’ fingers to its limit before all that was left for it was to further tear.

Alphinaud cried out, a reedy whine of naught but pain. “It’s so—” came breathless, choked off; a hitching inhale for punctuation. It was impossible to tell what kept the boy from finishing: if he did not know the word he sought after, if the potion’s haphazard effects making their way into his bloodstream had seized for the moment his vocal cords, or if he was simply overwhelmed. The sentiment, in any case, went unspoken.

“Fuck, but this hole is so damn tiny,” Gaius breathed, fucking Alphinaud open on his fingers—rougher now he knew he could take it. He’d not been certain: this boy was not a child to be sure, but he had the look of one. Gaius wondered how long he would retain this stature, if some other factor was at play. “Brand new and unfucked, but I’ll wound you properly yet.” He drove his hand in, ground the boy’s little clit against his pubic bone under Gaius’ palm. His boy strained around the intrusion of his fingers, almost down to the third knuckle and pressing hard against Alphinaud’s womb with nowhere to go except _ up_. 

He hooked his fingers to find the hidden space between cunt and cervix, a motion that always made Livia shriek, the walls of her fucked-loose hole convulsing around him even when he was not nearly so brutal as she liked him to be. Alphinaud choked on a gasp, a high-pitched little mouse of a squeak, but his little cunt was slack around Gaius’ fingers, the boy’s heartbeat a stronger pulse than the spasms he knew he ought to be feeling, striking Alphinaud’s womb in the way that he was, laying claim to him in a way that could be neither unmade nor debated. 

Gaius pulled out until the boy was nearly empty, and spread him apart on his fingers to test the give of the muscle. He no longer found any opposition in it, the reflexive urge of even cunts to resist penetration suppressed entirely by the paralytic. Gaius let his fingers slip from the boy’s hole, stroking between his lips at the entrance, torn bloody and raw, now gaping for him. Likely brushed his clit, slight as Alphinaud was. The boy could only sob, what few tremors had managed to circumvent the potion in his blood wracking his frame. 

“There,” said Gaius, low and satisfied. “Can’t keep me out anymore. I’m going to fuck your cunt now, get my cock into this little slit of yours. And you’ll take it all, won’t you?”

The boy stopped breathing for a long moment, bruised tits falling as his lungs emptied and his shoulders curled in. Staring up at Gaius with bright, wet eyes, Alphinaud’s pupils were huge and void-dark, all-consuming, the whites shot through pink from crying. His soft mouth had fallen open, blood clotting in the mess of his torn lip, so well bitten, but at first he said nothing, only nodded. Swallowing thickly, he managed, “I—yes, erus.”

“_Very _ good, puelle.”

Gaius shifted his weight to unbutton his flies, heedless of the mess the boy had left on his fingers. His trousers would be as ruined as the bedsheets, unwilling to pause to remove his boots when he could but shove enough fabric aside to bring out his cock. He took it in hand, his own fingers curling around the circumference comfortably but with little to spare; thought of Alphinaud’s hands on it, only both having a hope to meet around its width, and found himself needing to clamp down hard on the base. If he’d wanted to come _ on _ the boy, he’d have done so with his fingers buried in his cunt.

In composing himself, he looked down at his cock in his grip and considered what he’d already half-known: he would need to fuck Alphinaud through his fist.

Beside him came a hushed noise, pained but as if expecting to be, free of what shock had colored the boy’s earlier cries. Gaius’ attention returned to him: his hand between his thighs, tentatively exploring the new gape of his ruined cunt, so much more pronounced beneath his own little fingers. Alphinaud hissed through his teeth at the softest of touches dipping between pink lips to curl into the lacerated flesh of his cunt for the first time, brow furrowed—and when he noticed the weight of Gaius’ gaze he froze, as though having been caught by his father he anticipated discipline.

Gaius laughed, warm rather than cruel. “You’ll only touch when I’m not looking, is that it?”

“I—” the boy’s gaze darted between Gaius and his own hand, so compromising between his legs, and he looked as though all that kept him from covering his face was the mess his choices would leave upon it. “I’m sorry, sir. Erus,” he corrected himself, syllables clumsy on his tongue.

“You’re free to it once I’ve claimed the thing,” Gaius said, still amused, settling himself on his knees half atop the boy. His hips were narrow enough being fucked on his back seemed a doubtful venture, willing or no; Gaius maneuvered one of Alphinaud’s legs until his knee was beside his chest, snatched up his slim wrist and pressed his bloody fingers into his thigh at the fragile skin inside his knee. The boy was pliant for him, doll-like as the porcelain finish of his unbroken skin, painted bright in smears of red.

Alphinaud reached out across the scant ilms now separating them, elbow nearly straight for it. Laying a trembling palm against the firm muscle of Gaius’ chest near the center, his fingers brushed the edge of one hard nipple. Gaius grasped his forearm—frail and bird-boned, so small Gaius’ thumb came back around past the second row of knuckles when he wrapped his fingers around it—and pinned it to the bedspread, keeping a firm hold for only long enough to make the order clear. _ Keep that there. _

Palm-up, the boy’s fingers fluttered like he might for a moment have been considering disobedience before his hand relaxed—whether acquiescing or merely the effect of the potion Gaius could not say when Alphinaud’s next labored breath saw his leg fall lax, knee turning out from his hip and putting on offer his stretched cunt.

Taking his cock in hand, Gaius had no need for further preparation; only lined up with the boy’s tiny, virgin hole, no longer offering resistance but still so tight. Alphinaud choked back a new sob at just the press of Gaius’ cock, not even _ inside _ him yet, the head simply resting between the lips of his cunt. Despite his hitching, panicked breaths Alphinaud did not struggle but laid out yielding for him, to his specifications, and it could not have been only the potion's doing that he did not tense, for there was no protest to be found amid his swallowed cries. Tears welled up in his big eyes, lips beginning the shapes of words neither voiced nor even fully formed.

Mindful of his weight, Gaius covered the boy, brushed tears from heavy lashes before they had truly spilled. “What do you fear?”

Alphinaud swallowed and closed his eyes, wetting his bloody lips. “All of it,” he whispered.

Gaius groaned low in his chest and tightened his hand around the base of his cock, head still set against Alphinaud’s fragile little cunt. “‘All of it’,” he repeated, as dizzy with arousal as the boy likely was with blood loss. “Not knowing what to expect? Your Scions’ disapproval?” Alphinaud nodded, a diminutive motion made fitful by the potion. “Or is it struggling to move? The size of my cock?” The boy cried out as Gaius dragged the head of it across his lips. Empty, they gaped, wanting to be filled; around Gaius’ cock they stretched taut, pinprick drops of blood gathering like dew along the raw edges of quick-growing fissures. “The pain?”

He pressed in. The boy’s scream rent the air, shrill and piercing even muffled, half-buried by Gaius’ weight above him so that as Gaius filled his shallow cunt in but the one thrust, cockhead hitting what could only be the boy’s womb, he felt in the space between his ribs Alphinaud’s nose and the blunt edge of his teeth. Thrashing open-mouthed, the unforgiving clutch of his cunt was the only bite he gave, but for Gaius the pain of it was mild and the boy could hardly be faulted for youth or virginity. He was so _ tense _ and struggling for only the sake of it, palms flat against the bulk of Gaius’ chest and skidding for useless pressure, hopeless to ever dislodge Gaius above him. Gaius caught up Alphinaud’s wrists between his thumb and the meat of his palm and cupped his hand over his mouth, fingers curling around the boy’s jaw. 

The rabbit-quick pace of Alphinaud’s breath was all too obvious forced past the line of Gaius’ finger, his hand big enough he could cut off the boy’s air without trying. Already his screams grew ragged, broken for lack of breath. “Hush, boy, you mustn’t scream,” Gaius murmured, more urgently than he might have should the boy not seem near to fainting.

He let go of the base of his cock; all of his weight on the boy and his jaw would surely break. To move his hand out from between them he needed shift his hips, pulling back but enough to afford himself the space. The boy cried out again, choked and desperate, jerking in Gaius’ grip as he settled his weight on his bloody hand, his cock forced by the movement a half-ilm deeper against his bruised cervix. “Alphinaud,” he said, more sharply. “Look at me.”

It was several long seconds before the boy obeyed, his eyes first closed and then darting nearly anywhere but to Gaius’ face. Even once he caught his gaze, it wavered. “I know it’s hard,” Gaius soothed. “The first is always the hardest. You’re through the worst of it now, but you must breathe.” Under Gaius’ hand, Alphinaud nodded, or started shivering, and in either case the near-frantic motion did not stop as his breathing began to slow. Each breath came shaky, uneven and half-voiced; hitched on violent sobs that soaked the bedspread. That he didn’t cry himself sick and let bile join the mess on the sheets was astonishing.

“Good,” Gaius said. “So good for me, my boy, you’re taking it so well. Cry as much as you need.” He kept still several moments while the boy wore himself out struggling: weeping, of course, but slack-limbed and far more pliable. Content that these new cries were not like to draw undue attention, Gaius removed his hand from over Alphinaud’s mouth.

The boy took in a wheezing gasp, spit shining on his soft lips. With the newfound air he whined, a broken little sound: “It _ hurts_.” 

“It’s sex, boy. It’s meant to hurt.” He had taken blades for Livia’s entertainment and ravaged her so well her ruined cunt would have been neater for taking one; been bidden to sodomize his Lord Emperor and to lay still and take his cock as if he were not a soldier but a fair-faced slave. It was never painless; someone ought to have warned the boy, if he was not allowed to experiment for himself. Taking not even half the length, little Alphinaud mewled for the pressure when Gaius so much as let more weight onto his hips. Grabbing hold of the base of his cock, Gaius began to fuck him properly.

To Alphinaud’s credit, he did not scream a third time, but only bit hard into his lip, breaking the fragile skin once more. Blood streamed down his chin, caught in peach-fuzz hairs beneath the line of his jaw as he rocked into the pain of being fucked, eyes screwed shut and tears staining his cheeks.

“Such a good boy,” Gaius praised. He used Alphinaud hard, and necessarily so: though his cunt was soaking wet and certainly not merely with blood, his cervix was a hard stop to each stroke, the full width of Gaius’ palm around the base of his cock still not enough to prevent striking his womb. His cock rasped against a ridge of bone, the inner wall of the boy’s pelvis reminiscent of teeth wrapped by soft lips. This, then, was the limit to how much little Alphinaud’s body could take—were Gaius to try fucking the boy’s mouth, even the head would not fit past those lips. He moaned at but the thought of it. “You feel so good on my cock, kept this tiny slit so tight for me.” With each thrust his fingers pressed flush to soft swollen cunt lips, and it would have been a simple enough motion to tilt his hand and batter the boy’s clit with the knuckle of his thumb. Certainly too full to bear it even should the paralytic let Alphinaud come, Gaius chose to spare the trembling thing more sensation.

The boy started up an urgent refrain, begging him in the tongue of Sharlayan: and begging was all it _ could _ be, the same two words again and again and again. Gaius could not begin to guess at the meaning, the shapes of the words so unlike Garlean or any Eorzean dialect. Perhaps he wanted Gaius’ fingers on his clit; perhaps he wanted him to stop.

He paused in his thrusts, still seated half in Alphinaud’s shallow cunt, a kindness to let the boy collect his thoughts. “I can’t understand you, boy.”

Eyes wrenched shut, Alphinaud whispered ragged, “Could you—slower, _ please_,” and gasped for swallowing his own tears trying to breathe.

Gaius pulled out and pressed back in, slow and with a shift of angle, dragging brutal against the lacerated walls of his cunt. “Like this?”

Alphinaud sobbed harder, his nod nearer to convulsions for how desperate the motion was, throwing his head back against the mattress forcefully enough to make the springs creak. “I—” he swallowed, perhaps considering his words, or choking back bile. “Th-thank you, erus.”

At this slower pace, Gaius could take his hand off his cock. Without his fist to control the depth, he took another half-ilm at most—scarcely enough for Alphinaud to notice, entrance of his womb already bruised and hips rocking as if to escape the hard use. Holding himself up on his elbow above the boy’s head, he brought up his hand, smearing fresh blood across Alphinaud’s skin. The boy whined when Gaius’ questing fingers found his tits, bruised purple-black and sore before they’d ever been touched, but he would not, _ could _ not come from being fucked, overfull, pained and paralyzed, so there was nothing to measure against in taking his pleasure of him.

When he was close, Gaius considered pulling out to spill over Alphinaud’s chest and stomach—he had done so with Livia the first few times he fucked her cunt, before she had gotten preventatives of the medicus, and it had been the habit when she was only touching herself in his lap. But the feeling of Alphinaud’s tit between his fingers gave him pause: the flat plane of skin over the small, firm mass of tissue, neither his nipples able to harden nor even the areolæ raising as a whole above the surrounding skin. With those tits, and the soft, sparse white hair between his legs, not even reaching past the mons to the lips of his cunt… Gaius would not _ need _ to pull out.

This realization tipped him at last over the edge; he spilled inside Alphinaud with a low groan, thumbnail digging hard into the side of his budding breast. Alphinaud whimpered when it broke the skin, laying now still beneath him, having accepted his use.

Gaius rolled to his side, lest he crush the boy underneath his weight as exhaustion settled into his muscles. Alphinaud turned his neck to track Gaius with glassy, unfocused eyes no longer welling with tears, as though at some unnoticed point he had simply run out. Gaius wiped the blood from his hand on the bedspread and reached out to cup the boy’s cheek. He scrubbed at tears which clung to his round jaw, trailed his open palm across Alphinaud’s delicate throat; let it come to rest on his belly, tense under Gaius’ touch. The boy watched him wide-eyed, wearing his age in manner as much as his features.

If the boy were Garlean, it would be no risk to have come in his cunt—but he was not Garlean. “That won’t take, will it?”

Alphinaud blinked at him. “What?”

Gaius considered his words. “I can get you something,” he said, careful to enunciate. “A preventative?” Another moment’s thought, and he laid his hand yet lower, between the boy’s hips—perhaps that he could understand if he still did not comprehend the words.

Recognition dawned with a soft-voiced _oh_; Alphinaud said, “I’ve not—” then shook his head as if to clear it, a frown marring his pretty face. “I don’t need anything.”

Then the mess upon the insides of his thighs mixed with Gaius’ leaking spend was his cunt’s first blood, and Gaius had put it there. “Fuck if you don’t make a sweet little cocksleeve.”

Somehow still shy of him, the boy brought his legs together, half-fœtal with his hips canted towards Gaius, a dimple in the joint as if it had been jarred out of place by the rough use. Gaius grasped his bent knee, reopened his legs to no resistance. Alphinaud only buried his face in the bedspread with a quiet moan.

Gaius shifted, resting his weight on one elbow, and with his other hand gripped the back of Alphinaud’s thigh, his thumb curling easily between his spread legs to pin back one of the boy’s outer lips to better see his handiwork. “Oh,” he breathed, “look at this ruined cunt.” Once so tight, the slit now gaped from only the spread of his legs, lips red from use even when the blood was wiped away. The boy had torn quite badly: the initial fissure from Gaius’ fingers itself gaping wide from the stretch around his cock, now a band of raw flesh welling up tiny droplets of blood; several shallow tears in his perineum, worn ragged at their edges; a particularly nasty wound splitting one of his lips near the hood of his clit, bisecting the front wall of his cunt, urethra a near miss. It cut deep; even gaping, Gaius could not see the gash’s end. 

“I’m sorry.” Alphinaud’s voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Gaius looked from the boy’s cunt to his glassy eyes, irises all the more blue for the redness his tears had wrought. “What have you to apologize for?”

“My cunt couldn’t take you,” the boy said, all earnesty and sounding near tears again for having somehow failed Gaius by being small enough to tear around a cock. His voice was raw, cracked from screaming. “It—it broke.”

Gaius laughed. “I told you, it’s meant to. You took my cock so well for as little as you are. And the pain will not be so sharp the next time, now you’ve been wounded.” A shame that the Scions were not like to let him near the boy again, should this incident return to their ears: he would gladly break Alphinaud open upon his cock again.

He shifted his grip on the boy’s thigh, pressed his thumb into his hole. It slipped past Alphinaud’s lips with ease, cunt fucked loose and his hymen broken into useless strands. With the potion’s effects wearing off, the hole spasmed weakly around the intrusion to leak more of Gaius’ come, tinged pink with blood, but Alphinaud put up no struggle; it was of his own volition he lay pliant beneath Gaius to be used. On a gasp, the boy breathed “_Please—_”

Gaius bent low, bringing down his other hand to hook his thumb over the high arc of Alphinaud’s jutting hipbone, effortlessly lifting the boy to his mouth; pressed down with his thumb into his torn perineum to open up his cunt. The taste of himself was bitter, as familiar on Gaius’ tongue as the metal tang of blood, and he chased the two, inseparable, deeper into Alphinaud’s cunt, licking out of him the mess he’d made. The boy squirmed in his grip, crying out as Gaius laved over the long gash that had so riven the lips of his cunt, heel sliding against the bedspread and finding no purchase. Gaius shifted his weight and grip, pinning the boy’s leg beneath his elbow. The other lay still at that awkward angle upraised and turned out from his hip, surely dislocated.

The crevasses torn into Alphinaud’s ruined cunt caught and clung to Gaius’ tongue, soft in the way of all wounds. He pressed the tip into the worst of them, ripped into the upper wall; pushed gently into tender flesh and disturbed the beginnings of clots. Fresh blood rushed to the raw surface more quickly than Gaius could lick it away, short rapid strokes which for all their lightness made Alphinaud’s shoulders shake.

Trembling fingers twisted in Gaius’ hair, Alphinaud pulling him neither nearer nor away but simply tugging as desperate sobs wracked his frame. He writhed in Gaius’ grip, worn-out hole trying to spasm but fucked lax. In stilling the boy’s quaking form, the hard press of Gaius’ fingers forced the ball of Alphinaud’s hip back into the socket. He felt the clunk of it reverberate in the roots of his teeth as the boy gave a ragged, breathless gasp above him, turning soon into a shrill keen. The gash in his cunt undulated beneath the toying of Gaius’ tongue, and it was the steady pulse of it that led him to realize—well belated—that the boy’s shoulders were wracked with more than only pain. He let Alphinaud ride out his orgasm, then adjusted his angle, sparing the boy more of the rough drag of his upper lip against that overstimulated clit as Gaius sated the last of his appetite. 

Even so doing, Alphinaud mewled piteously through it all until Gaius pulled back satisfied, blood staining his chin. Rubbed raw and pink from Gaius’ stubble, Alphinaud’s inner thighs were clear of spend—and, for the moment, of blood as well. _That _ would not last long, the blood welling between his lips already aspiring to spill over.

Gaius supposed that, having wrecked the boy so well, he could spare a hi-potion to staunch the bleeding. Having done up his flies—the front of his trousers bloodied, already drying stiff for the mess—he retrieved another phial from his pack. 

“When you’re ready,” he told the boy kindly, “slick your fingers with this; it will have to go inside, but it will do away with some of your hurts.” The look of him spread open in Gaius’ bed was a temptation unlike any other, one which awoke in him a near-unassailable urge to keep the boy for the night, to wake him up with the hard press of his cock. 

Alphinaud wouldn’t be making to leave any time soon—hells, who knew if he’d be able to under his own power, even with the hi-potion’s aid? It was not a strong potion: if Alphinaud _ drank _ it, like as not it would do nothing to salve the real hurts, tending instead to the black and blue mess of his tits and the purple petechiæ freckling high across his cheeks like stars. It was by wetting his fingers to work the potion into the walls of his ravaged hole that the worst would be soothed—but no potion could unmake his broken hymen nor the fucked-wide gape of his cunt. Whether the boy went home to his own bed or spent the night in Gaius’ to be used again come the morning, _ that _ mark would remain.


End file.
